


Too Many Beards

by AriadnesPants



Category: The Hobbit (1977), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Hobbit RPF
Genre: M/M, Might deviate from canon, No orgies sorry, Silly humor ahoy!, Unpredictable couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 02:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AriadnesPants/pseuds/AriadnesPants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems that ALL of the dwarves like Bilbo a little too much. What's a hobbit to do? (Note: Pairing subject to change)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Alarming Question

The Alarming Question  
_______________________________________________________

Dinner had been a measly affair, only broth with a hint of unknown flavor, until the hobbit found all eyes locked to his over the fire, cross the fire and near to him.

“A question for you, Master Baggins,” Balin’s voice wavered uncharacteristically, breaking a bit for reasons the hobbit could not fathom.

Dropping his spoon with a splash against his cheek, most embarrassing, he looked back and forth, scanning the staring dwarves all around him.

“Y-yes, Master Balin?” he squeaked with apprehension, wiping his face, catching the nervous quirk of lips from Bofur to his left on the log. Were they going to ask him to leave?

The company seemed to take a collective breath as Balin continued. 

“We’ve all got to talkin’, you see, and through many secret arguments, we have concluded that we all wish to try for a spot in your most esteemed favor, if you would allow.”

Narrowing eyes filled with confusion, the hobbit tilted his head a little. “I-that is most gracious of you, but I do not…understand?”

“What I mean to say is,” there was something foreign and undecipherable in the elder’s crinkled skin, and Bilbo swore he’d never seen him so unsure, “we have all taken fancy to you and…To put it bluntly, desire your heart. We cannot all hope to have it, so we ask permission to seek your favor. With your consent, we ask to win you. Choose which of us you like best by the end of it, and none of us will hold ill feelings. Even,” he stressed, eyeing a now pacing Thorin whose gaze could no longer stand to watch the unfolding scene, “if you accept no one at all.”

It had not been three weeks into the journey and no evidence whatsoever had presented itself to Bilbo to make him speculate this sort of inquiry would ever be made. Bilbo’s hands began to shake and Bofur gently relieved him of his bland dinner. 

“But you’re- But I’m! Hobbits and dwarves- we- I’m shire folk- I…Tooks, maybe but- Baggins…oh…” Bilbo rambled, completely unable to grasp coherent thought, before he trailed off. Never before had he been so pink with fluster. He lost the ability to breathe correctly. So many eyes were watching him. No, no, they weren’t simply watching they were leering! Even the dark figure of the future king turned to observe him becoming a stuttering mess. How had he missed this? Too many years stuck in a tiny hole, he supposed, with no ladies (or dwarves for that matter) clouding his vision, no romance, and nothing unusual at all. Innocent- entirely too innocent- and he wished he could leap into his sleeping sack and pretend it had all been but a bizarre dream of his own concoction. 

Except innocence never dared concoct such a concept. 

Standing, worried tremendously that perhaps those sitting on either side of him, Bofur and Ori, would stare at his little rump as he did, he made to answer.

Truly he had meant to decline, but his voice box refused.

Instead, as the dwarves had predicted, he fell over into Ori’s arms in a dainty little faint. 

“Lads, I made the attempt,” Balin sighed, scowling darkly as Ori smiled and affectionately ruffled the little one’s curls. 

“Aye,” Dwalin snarled from besides his brother, “now remove your hand from him and we’ll get him to bed.” 

Gandalf, who had been coming back to camp from his evening stroll, looked on with only momentary confusion, until he saw the entire company surrounding a now bundled in blankets hobbit, each quietly murmuring an apology and wishing the tiny creature a good rest.

It was almost adorable.


	2. Gloin Wonders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! I had already written this chapter when I got a few comments about Gloin, so this is your answer right here! Hope you enjoy! 
> 
> If you don't want details about WHY the dwarves are interested in Bilbo on an individual level, just skip towards the bottom for the continuing story, though I would recommend you read it.

Gloin Wonders  
______________

Goin was amused by the new turn of events. Though Balin had included him in his speech, he was only partly interested in a bit of fun. He wished for no hobbit hearts, for his own was filled with the thoughts of his wife and son. This was not to say that the prospect of a sweet, quivering little hobbit bending to his will did not appeal to him on this long journey. His wife needn’t know. His interest in the hobbit was merely a distraction. Truth be told, he would not pursue a heart, but a kiss on the tip of his smaller head, or perhaps a bit more than that if luck was his. 

Of course he would have to fight off a pack of drooling dwarves for it, so he decides, regardless of Balin’s announcement to the hobbit, he would not do anything unless approached. And he very much doubted, if the  
fainting spell told him anything, that this would happen. 

The others were not of the same mindset. 

Balin, old as he was, had become fond of the burglar through their shared interest in maps, languages and history. He enjoyed weaving dwarven tales to the hobbit, and very quickly he found that he wouldn’t mind weaving a few other things for him. In fact, Gloin had spotted his elder sewing an intricate cloth head piece for the Baggins before any had begun to argue over who should stake a claim, or if any should at all. 

The tattooed beast that was Dwalin found him amusing at first, having had the privilege of first introduction, and grew to see him as a sweet face in a dark time. He sniggered how little muscle the fair being possessed behind his back but Gloin had trouble not noticing how he watched him a bit too closely each time he turned and walked off. Gloin wondered on exactly why the beast of a dwarf had any mind for a gentle little hobbit, but felt safe in assuming it was purely sexual. He’d have to wait and see. Entertainment this would be, at the very least.

The leader of their seemingly doomed company, Thorin, pretended to find Bilbo as useless as a dead elf, but he continued looking out for him in a way that hinted his feelings. Standing aside to let the others pass as they trudged through miserable rock and valley, he would wait for the hobbit to assure he didn’t lose his footing and smash comically into dirt or the dwarf in front of him. Brooding as he was, Gloin could not read him so well other than that. 

His own brother, Oin, had misheard several things the hobbit had said and believed him to be a very different person than Gloin did as a result. Though corrected on his belief that Baggins was an expert burglar, Oin continued to believe that the hobbit had not fainted on the prospect of fighting ferocious dragons, but in fact fainted due to the excess testosterone surrounding him. He had heard nothing of dragons from Bofur’s mouth, and if he had he believed it was a very different sort of dragon. With a fine beard as his, what living thing would not? Worst of all, he fancied for a time the tiny thing to be a she-hobbit, most unfortunately. Corrected again, he grumbled for a moment about the oddness of smooth skin, only to conclude moments later that perhaps he liked this about the now he-hobbit. No scratchiness on his crotch that way, he argued.

Like Gloin, the act of gratification was more in the near deaf dwarf’s pants then any heart conquering. But, for the sake of respectability, the way Balin had phrased their intent as a matter of the heart seemed easy enough and not so barbaric that the small thing would continue losing consciousness. 

Not knowing Bifur, Bofur or the rotund Bombur very well, Gloin could only assume they found him comely and kindly enough to warrant their attentions. The one with the goofy hat in particular sang his praise and found him an endless source of amusement. The deranged one with the axed head would smile crookedly as the hobbit caught his view, but nothing else was known of his thoughts. Bombur may have thought him a tasty meal for all he knew. 

Dori, Nori and Ori were as varied in personality as their reasons for desiring the heart of a Shire folk. 

Dori discovered they both loved discussing the intricacies of flavors in a good glass of wine, the exact sharpness of a cheese, and how best to eat crackers with said cheese. Gloin snorted a little at the thought of Bilbo and Dori opening up a winery and offering to educate the masses on how to properly sip various kinds of alcohol, while the hairy toed one bustled around offering up snacks, saying “please” and “thank you” enough to drive anyone mad. Together, they would both do well as shire folk, both a little delicate in their own unique ways. But Dori was a brute of a fighter nonetheless, he couldn't forget that.

Ori fawned over Bilbo as if he were a puppy all his own. It was enough to nauseate Gloin. A very young dwarf he was, well read with a penmanship wanting for naught, but he was no warrior. He had heard Kili and Fili gossiping about how they snuck a peak at one of his books only to find silly little doodles of Bilbo in dwarven garments and poetry comparing the disgruntled face he made when confused or upset to a summer’s sky. Really now, the boy was an absolute fool in love if he thought that was a comparison at all. 

Nori shiftily eyed Master Baggins pack and pockets enough to make Gloin suspect he wished to swindle something off him. Originally that may have been his intent but when the dwarves gathered while their burglar slept to discuss a group courtship, Nori piped in his own interest. Gloin could not gather the reason, for the three-pieced hair hid many a secret he could not divulge.

The mischievous heirs of Thorin thought the fragile man great amusement and would tease him relentlessly. Gloin contemplated the fact that they may have simply been in it for the fun once again, but young men were hard to pin point and he had long given up communicating with them for long periods of time. They always snuck in a jab or insult in everyday conversation and their eyes twinkled far too much for his comfort. 

Gloin knew many of them had honest intentions for Mister Bilbo Baggins, and he hoped the hobbit could figure out which ones out of the party did, for choosing the wrong one might land in heart break for the persnickety Bilbo. Or, he smirked, the hobbit would flee as soon as the chance came and none of them would ever know hobbit affection.

All in all, upon the hobbit’s regaining of consciousness the next morning, the company would not have need for troubadour or the silliness of youthful princes to entertain. 

___________________________________

And so the morning arrived. 

Jittery and as alert as a squirrel ready to round a tree at any sound, Bilbo jerked his head up. He felt hot with sweat but took no notice as to why until he spotted several pairs of hands, feet, and one terrifying backside that did not stink (thank all he knew) surrounding him on all sides. Touching him.

He was reminded of childhood sleepovers, where what friends he had piled into the living room of his cozy hobbit hole telling silly stories and comparing their favorite toys. Only this slumber party was not initiated by Bilbo. It rather felt like a gang rape that fell short of the rape bit. Bilbo shuttered and scolded himself for thinking so lowly of these perfectly respectable dwarves. He only wished they would be more hobbit respectable, meaning space was necessary. Not even his childhood friends slept close enough to have an arm slung around him; and there were many arms either completely on top of his belly, head and legs, or enough to graze him. He wondered how they all managed to position themselves around him until he realized there were only six dwarves in his immediate vicinity. The others were close but due to lack of space did not have the joy to join in on the snuggling. 

Moist breath in one ear, he saw Bifur had stirred, blinking sleep from his eyes as he grumbled in Khuzdul something Bilbo was sure must have been profane or laced with romantic poetry. Or he was paranoid.

Yes, Bifur was one of the six violating his personal space. 

The rump in his face was Dwalin’s and he stared at it in mute horror. It had escaped the dwarf’s blanket and had extended its use as a hand to touch Bilbo instead of actual hands like the others. Oh, that was truly delightful. He shivered in terror as the great bald monster shifted lightly, stomach growling. 

Bilbo needed to escape the hands and butts quickly. What if that angry stomach was filled with foul gas that would soon make its way out? 

Sitting up slowly, gently prying hands from his person, he caught site of an embedded axe as it slunk closer. The wounded warrior was mad, this much Bilbo was sure, and he feared the very worse. Instead the raccoon-headed madman smiled lopsidedly, albeit with a twinge of insanity lifting up the corners of his lips in a partial grimace, and patted his head a few times in reassurance or greeting. 

Bilbo gulped and nodded, granting his own twittering smile in return. 

"Good morning, Mister Bifur,” he offered, standing slowly, making a small semi-circle in place to look for a space to step over the pile of bodies safely. 

In his immediate surroundings, the hands had been so rude belonged to Ori, Dori, Nori and Bofur. Bofur’s hat was snuggled tightly in warm breast by a free arm. Ori’s book lay open and he spied a few practiced, misspelled lines of common tongue attempting to spell Bilbo’s name properly. Dori and Nori, who had been attached to either of his legs, were now intertwined at the hands. 

Bifur stood as well, leaving more space to escape, so escape the hobbit did, finding himself nearly crushing the almighty future king under the mountain’s hair piece. 

Hurriedly, without so much as a look at the lost looking Bifur, he made his was to his pony where all felt safe and non-intruding. The animal sucked in his curls through her nose with a sniff and he hugged her for comfort. 

Pony’s wanted nothing but food and affection from hobbits. He liked this.

Now where had Gandalf gone? He needed to speak to him about protective spells, for clearly wargs and Orcs were not the only thing after him.


	3. Thorin's Personal Space Problem

Gandalf had been as much help as he had at the beginning of all this ruckus. Bilbo vowed never to trust a wizard again. The obscenely old man hummed and oh-ed while stroking his fluffy beard in contemplation, only offering a single piece of advice, which really was no advice at all.

“I told you this would be an adventure, Bilbo Baggins.” The only useful bit of the whole conversation had been, “but, if I were you, stay clear of the married dwarves. Lady dwarves are ferocious in love and you’re poor hobbit trousers will be in far greater danger with them than any of the company.” Then he merrily chewed his pipe as he swayed away to do wizardly things in the opposite direction. Bilbo was equally disturbed and confused by this statement.

Baggins managed a pathetic whimper of, “but who is married…?” just before the elder was completely out of site. With a slow turn, grey eyes brimming with amusement was all he was given.

“Curse you! You shan’t meet with my heirs, and you certainly shan’t be taking this Bilbo Baggins on any other adventures after this!” Bilbo did not realize the irony of the statement until he resembled the wizard in age. The ancient wizard chuckled himself silly all morning, observing from the sidelines as each little dwarf head popped up into wakefulness, searching for their missing burglar, spotting him reluctantly preparing breakfast. 

After the company awoke Bilbo had been lavished with all sorts of attention he never aspired to. He preferred earning such things through great accomplishments, but judging by the endless compliments from Bofur on his sweet golden curls, the snarky comments on how well endowed he must be for a Halfling from the heirs of Erebor, and the none too gentle pats on his naturally rounded belly from Dwalin, he realized his appearance had won him more awards than any one thing he’d ever done in Hobbiton. He confessed to himself he hadn’t done that much in Hobbiton other than be a respectable Baggins, planting his prized tomatoes and, of course, mastering the skill of cooking, but Mahal and all manner of creators above, could they quit with such vulgarity! 

None mentioned his quick thinking with the trolls, but he supposed they were too insulted by the way he’d gotten them out of said situation.

Of course there were the apologizes for his fainting spell. Individually, each dwarf stepped over to him to inquire after his health and apologize for the scare he had been given, except Bifur who had hugged him for several minutes until the pot he was attempting to cook their breakfast in boiled over. Bilbo assumed this was his way of apologizing.

While slobbering over their meal, Balin had once again taken up the position of mediator. Bilbo cringed when he heard his name spoken in such a professional tone by one he now knew liked him far more than he ever dreamed. He had liked the idea of Balin being a grandfatherly type, telling heroic tales to children, wise beyond his years and all. Now he thought he might have been a pervert, though he tried very hard not to assume the worst. That parted beard may hold more positive secrets than just perversity. 

“Master Baggins,” Balin cleared his throat, setting aside his dish, “the company would like to explain how we intend to go about this courting business. That is,” one bushy brow quirked, “if you’ve considered it.”

Bilbo paled and lost all appetite. Being too kindly was truly a terrible crime, for he could not say no. Not when so many were watching him, not when so many seemed to want him to just try it out. Besides, it was an adventure as Gandalf said (oh why was he listening to that meddlesome, senile man!). He hadn’t had much stress in all his years. Perhaps stress was good. Part of adventuring, it was. 

“Oh,” he choked, “oh…yes, Master Balin, I suppose…well, there can’t be harm in an attempt.”

The homeless group cheered loud enough for the ground to shake around him. If they brought orcs and trolls upon them for this Bilbo would never see fit to forgive them.

Quickly he decided to intervene, “of course, Master Dwarves, I wish for one thing to be made perfectly clear.” They drew a collective breath and leaned forward to listen, something they had been doing a lot of lately. “At this moment I have no interest whatsoever in the lot of you. I haven’t-er-well, I haven’t at all, oh, confound it all! I haven’t experience with such things, so please be gentle and kind! I am a hobbit easily crushed, after all. You must understand this. I will tolerate nothing rough,” he was interrupted by a few high pitched giggles and snorts from the Durin boys, all of which he ignored with a grimace, “and no more touching me whilst I sleep! Hobbits court in a very particular manner and that is not at all it!”

“I apologize, Bilbo!” Ori whined from over the kettle, his face grief stricken. Bilbo almost smiled at his over the top sweetness- almost. If he didn’t think that would only encourage the youngest of the party.

Dori seemed equally as apologetic, while Nori just snickered and winked playfully at the flustered hobbit. Dwalin wiggled his brows and smiled leeringly. Bifur began picking bark from a tree, though Bilbo detected an embarrassed flush dusting his cheeks. Bofur shrugged and puffed on his pipe, a squinted smile crinkling his eyes.

“It is alright, Master Ori,” Bilbo could hardly stand to hurt the baby-faced red head’s feelings, no matter how violated he had felt this morning. “Now please explain to me how thirteen grown men intend to c-c-c-court a hobbit all at once!” He hadn’t meant it, but his voice squeaked and broke. 

None too surprisingly, Balin answered his question.

“We shall bring you gifts and take turns riding besides you during the days journeying. Get to know us better that way. It will be like spending time with a new friend. We shan’t be overly affectionate. If this is agreeable to you, Master Baggins.” 

With a withering sigh, Bilbo conceded. He didn’t bother explaining Hobbit courtship, for it seemed aligned to Dwarves. Getting to know one another, doing things together, and, of course, a few large home cooked meals and flowers. Maybe dwarves tossed rocks at their intended instead of flowers. He could tolerate this if they subtracted the tossing bit.

He should have known the very first dwarf to begin to process would follow no rules. 

As Thorin began barking orders for departure, he lifted the hobbit onto his own pony without so much as a “if I may” and Bilbo found himself in the midst of his first courting session. He should have known the would-be-king would be pushy, but to make him share a pony for the day? Being groin to backside with some was terribly intimate in his opinion. He furiously hoped that was just a hidden knife or battle axe wedged back there.

“Thorin, I thought Balin said riding beside me, not as close as one can get!” He whined. “And what of my things? I cannot very well leave my pack behind.”

In answer, Dwalin threw Bilbo’s pack over his shoulder and mounted his own pony, getting in line behind the king. Thorin grunted. 

“What better way to get to know each other than being in closer contact?” Bilbo wanted to evaporate into air. At least the dwarf was warming him up rather nicely. He had been a bit chilly. Still, what a kingly bastard!

They rode for about half an hour or so with no words, Thorin’s arms sneakily closing tighter and tighter around his middle as each minute ticked by. The rest of the company seemed oddly somber this morning, often sneaking glances at their King and their hobbit, none of these looks missed by Bilbo who was desperately trying to distract himself from the awkward situation. He tried petting the pony but his movements were restricted by thick arms, he attempted humming Hobbit tunes but quickly broke it mid-hum with a cracked squeak when he realized how terribly embarrassed he was to even hum so close to the king. Vibrations, after all…Oh, curse his newly tainted mindset! 

Finally, Thorin broke the silence.

“Master Baggins, I wanted to thank you again for rescuing the ponies. As foolish as it was to suggest having us all skinned, you had the mind to distract them long enough for our rescue. I have misjudged you in many ways. Though I doubt you will be proficient with a weapon or killing off anything but lady bugs, you are clever, and clever is what we seek.” 

Bilbo debated with himself over a response, finally deciding upon appreciation mixed with a light scold.

“I thank you, Master Oakenshield. You have been little but discourteous to me until just yesterday, so I appreciate at least a thank you. Of course, an apology would work better if you truly intend to do as…as Balin said.” He clamped his jaw down tightly to stop any further scolding or rambling. This ferocious fur ball him frightened only a little less than the bald one. He was strung up on long past agitation so tightly he would implode around himself if one wrong move was made. 

The king cleared his throat awkwardly, quick in discovering his disadvantage in this courtship over every other dwarf in their party. Foolishness on his part, but the creature had been a foot or more shorter than he and his twitchy, whiny attitude hadn’t been that much of an encouragement in the beginning. Surely the hobbit saw this?

“I was unaccustomed to Hobbits, Master Baggins, and for this I apologize. I understand you must think ill of me. May our day together work towards convincing you otherwise,” he announced with more confidence than he truly had. 

The hairy toed twittering not-grocer huffed in the affirmative and changed the subject. 

He started by asking him questions about his family and what he had done for a living before this suicidal adventure began. Then they breeched the subject of, oddly enough, the varying cleaning habits of both cultures; Bilbo finding Dwarves rarely bathed for fear of destroying their glorious braided beards. He learned of his sister Dis, and her ruthless haggling skills with humans- some of which involved threats to remove toes and ears- and how Fili was his heir. Thorin quietly admitted that neither of his heirs were the cleverest dwarves and he had hoped to have a child of his own if he survived the reclaiming of his mountain. Hoping Thorin didn’t think male Hobbits could breed, he smiled stiffly and nodded. Bilbo stuck to asking polite questions, and was pleasantly surprised that Thorin was opening up and willing to admit personal things to him. Perhaps he wasn’t as fearsome as he first assumed. 

The day slipped into black quietly, and they set up camp amongst more trees that looks quite similar to the ones they had been roaming in for the last two days. 

Thorin gently lifted him from his pony while Dwalin handed him his pack with a small smile, bordering on charming, though mostly just scary. While unpacking and situating himself, Thorin hung around like his shadow, intent on conversing more.

“Hobbits have very delicate fingers,” Thorin complimented awkwardly while Bilbo assisted him in untying his pony’s saddle.

“Delicate, but quick and small enough to untie knots better than those enormous things,” Bilbo replied testily, eyeing the king’s thick, black furred digits. He had hoped for some time away from Thorin now that the day was over and their walking had halted. 

Thorin agreed with a nervous smile that startled the Hobbit so badly (for who could imagine a smile on the menacing fur ball!) while he was removing his blanket from his bag that he fell forward and nearly squashed his face into Dori’s unsuspecting crotch. 

“Oh, Mister Baggins!” Dori gushed, turning bright red.

No, no, no, no! Bilbo internally screamed. 

“I am sorry, Master Dori!” He screeched, allowing Dori to right him, noting the dwarf’s immense strength and care to not hold his shoulders too tightly by accident. He could have easily lifted him above his head or, if the man were horrible, shove him right back where he had fallen. Why would Bilbo think such strange, un-hobbity things? This adventure was changing Bilbo in ways that made him mightily uncomfortable.

Thorin was fuming. This was his day! Not that tea drinking old bitty! He needed to stop thinking such things of Dori, but he couldn’t help it. Though the strongest of their party, the sweet batting lashes and delicate little braids of white tricked everyone into believing otherwise. Today was marked for his Hobbit Day, not Dori’s! 

The rest of the company had found it quite amusing. No one thought for a moment Dori could win over said Hobbit, even if he had been closer to his crotch than any of the others. Thorin was ready to throw things in all directions, but Dori’s hands let up, Bilbo setting himself straight and tugging at his clothes distractedly, muttering more apologies. 

While Bombur bustled around the fire preparing dinner, Bilbo tried to have a small walk through the woods on his own to simply be alone, but Thorin was attached to his every movement. They, or at least Thorin, had lied and really meant each dwarf should spend all the long day with him. Bilbo was to be awarded no peace until bed, and he would fight for his privacy on that account. 

“Er, Thorin, would you mind giving me a moment? I need to…relieve myself,” his left eye twitched at the word.

Really, they had said nothing about having to follow him to the privy! 

“Of course,” was the dignified response, as he stepped about seven paces away, and turned around, admiring the scenery around him. 

“Must you stand so close?” Bilbo nearly shouted. If this was going to be the pattern of his life for the next few months, Bilbo was ready to meet the dragon. At least Smaug would not watch him pee! He hoped.

Thorin cleared his throat. “Of course,” he repeated, as if he had no other words in his vocabulary. “I shall sit with you while we eat.” And he trotted back to camp.

Stalling his departure from his moment’s peace, the Halfling wandered in a bit of a circle, kicking stones, branches and dirt in frustration. Breathing in deeply after a few minutes of raging at nature and breathing deeply to calm himself, he finally returned to camp.

Thorin had two bowls in hand and seemed to be waiting for his arrival before eating. Bilbo huffed irately, hoping no one heard him, and accepted the bowl. Maintaining the distance of a little under a foot from the king’s hip, he ate as quickly as he could. He would feign tiredness and end this infernal day. 

“Did you enjoy your walk?” Thorin asked politely, brooding eyes inquiring. 

“It wasn’t much of a walk, but yes, thank you.”

“I can sense you wished for a private moment,” he said wisely.

Genuinely surprised the dwarf didn’t sound offended, Bilbo smiled shyly in Thorin’s general direction, not wanting to make eye contact. He was tired of forced conversation and having to deal with dwarves. “Yes, I did,” he sighed. “You must understand, I have spent many years living alone. I like my me time. It is required for me to function properly, even if it is only in five minute intervals.” 

Thorin nodded in understanding. “I feel the same. If ever I appear distant and quiet, that would be one of the many reasons.”

Bilbo would have opened his mouth in shock for such brutal honesty coming from such an angry, rough around the edges man, but instead he settled for being polite as his mother taught him.

“I find your honesty becoming of you, Thorin. Though it can be brutal and sometimes hurtful, I am glad that is not all there is to you.” He decided a bit more eye contact could be tolerated this evening. “I feel very awkward in all this,” he gestured with his spoon around the campfire of talking and munching dwarves, “but it is nice to know you have a soft spot beneath it all.” 

Thorin seemed greatly pleased by this response, for his smile grew tenfold to the point Bilbo almost chocked on his mouthful. 

After dinner he sat on his blankets, wondering if Thorin had any intention of joining him in that too. He would sleep on his own, thank you very much! Or so help him, the King’s beard would be ripped from his well sculpted chin. To his great pleasure, Thorin came round, bowing his tidings of good sleep, a twinkle in his eye that had not been there before.

He endured a round of “goodnights”, all separately delivered by each of the company.

Before Balin tucked into his sleep, Bilbo asked a very important question, assuming it would ease his mind for to sleep better.

“Ah, Master Balin, may I ask who will be my companion for tomorrow?” 

All at once dwarves were bickering and hissing at each other, some playing a game involving fists and strange signs, others shoving shoulders, some growling.

“I say the Durins should!” Fili exclaimed. 

“Oh, they always get firsts. Royal blood or no, we’re all s’posed to be equal in this! It’s a Hobbit af’er all, not a dwarf!” Bofur argued. 

“It?” Bilbo squeaked. Bofur shrugged and smiled at him.

“No offense.” Bilbo narrowed his eyes.

“Bilbo could choose,” Ori piped up from somewhere between his brothers.

“Aye! Let the Hobbit choose!” Several heartily agreed.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, the parted beard of Balin shook back and forth. “I feel Ori has the right idea in this. Master Baggins, who would you like to spend tomorrow with?” 

He just wanted to sleep, but he twiddled his thumbs as he gazed around at too many beards.

Noticing that Bifur had said nothing at all, he looked by Bofur’s side, seeing him curled up already half asleep. He might have chosen Ori for his suggestion, but something compelled him to choose Bifur. Maybe it was the fact that he could not communicate well with him and this would allow him more peace than the endless conversing the others would surely bring. And all that aside, Bifur was the most elusive to him and he did wish to know him a little better. An axe in the head was hard to survive, so he must be a very interesting character.

“Bifur.” 

Even Gloin raised a brow.

“Very well, Bifur will have your attentions tomorrow. Bofur, would you rouse him and tell him so? I wish this day to be over.” Balin flopped onto his back, praying sleep would find him soon. He had hoped the little hobbit might choose him, not that he would express his annoyance to the wee thing.


	4. In Bifur Hobbits Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bifur is a sap and Bofur's a bit of a perv.

Madness. The morning had been utter madness. Besides orcs and frightful chases, Bifur had been an axe head to behold indeed as Bilbo and Bifur’s day was utterly ruined by terrifying grey skinned beasts and shroom consuming wizards who knew more than what was normal about rabbits. Not that Bilbo minded the ruining of their day, but Bifur was decidedly indignant of the world in general after his day with the hobbit was murdered by horrible howling wargs and vile smelling minions with boy band spiked collars. Though Rivendell was a peaceful place with babbling brooks and twisting, see-through stair cases holding rooms anyone could peek into to spy on your most intimate moments, it offered no peace for Bifur’s day. 

Poor and unfortunate as the raccoon braided dwarf was, opportunity rarely came a-knocking upon his door. This time he was freely allowed to compete with the actual Durins, bestowed the honor of being in this hobbit’s presence, no matter what the fae thing thought of him. And judging from the occasional flinch whenever he grunted or gestured to him, Bilbo thought him truly a beast. He only hoped to put this assumption to bed. 

Weapon crunching against what he assumed was brain matter, he murdered foul creatures while enviously glancing back as his less chubby cousin watched over his hobbit. At least, he reasoned, Bilbo was safe.

He let Bofur manhandle the tiny thing into their circle as the enormously thin and willowy elves raced about them in daring circles, keeping him well defended. He would, he would, he would get a moment alone with the hobbit, he swore it, even if he had to hack fair elven flesh to bits one body part at a time to get to do so!

Turns out his weapon was unnecessary as an enormous brunette with an exceptionally high forehead seemed to recognize Gandalf and began spewing gibberish at him. Gandalf responded in kind and Gloin became distraught with thoughts he spoke allowed in quiet whispers that they had been led here only to be cannibalized and skinned of their fury hides to the laughter of all elf kind. Bifur wondered only momentarily if dwarven hair was prized for fine pointy-eared tunics and mittens. 

Sweet Bilbo scolded Gloin’s thoughts with a brow furrowed so far down his face Gloin flinched. Bilbo was obviously taken by this tiara wearing tree in armor, or he was seduced by some ancient magic. Bifur grumbled darkly under his breath while elbowing his cousin away from the hobbit, scooting closer to stand shoulder to shoulder with his tiny friend just in case. 

After Thorin proved himself an ass beyond the reckoning of all living things, and Elrond looked near ready to punt him across Rivendale with his too delicate toes and his fancy shoes, they were escorted to a meal of lettuce and white slices of bitterness Bifur was aghast to call food and the cursed elves called ‘onions‘. Of course, this didn’t mean he disliked the green bits, they just weren’t cooked to his taste. A bit of roasting and he would enjoy a mouthful. He had to fight off his companions for a spot to the right of Bilbo, who took a moment to gaze up at him and smile nervously. All the same, Bifur felt a bit of parsley drop from his lips mid-chew as he glowed in adoration at the sight. Bofur, who sat on his side, rolled his eyes and called him a besotted badger in Khudzul. Bifur only heard the munching of the precious shireling, who was thrilled to have something other than unseasoned stew for his belly.

After Bofur gave up on teasing his cousin, he got up on the table to belt perverted tunes in an attempt to insult their lofty hosts, smashing and destroying with all the grace in his thickly built body. Food flew across the sky coating fair elven hair and instruments, and Bilbo, who blushed feverishly in mortification, smashed his head against his plate twice, refusing to remove it for a long time. 

Bifur, torn between amusement and a desire to comfort, patted Bilbo’s back until the poor thing’s head literally cracked the plate beneath leaving Bilbo askance and bleeding only just from the forehead, sprigs of green food interwoven in his curls. Bifur was about ready to punch himself in the axe when the Halfling lifted a hand in surrender and refused to hear an apology. 

“Bifur, it’s alright. You would never cut my head on purpose,” he sighed dabbing his head with a napkin.

Bifur muttered furiously in the only language he could speak, mostly apologies and the expression of his frustration to wish to speak more with the hobbit and have their time together. The only one to hear Bifur under the table shaking roar of song and rattling knives appeared to be Balin, who, with a polite nod and an off, almost sad glint in his eyes, translated. 

Bilbo’s cut turned out to be superficial once Oin took a look, but Bifur had already given up all hope. He wasn’t young anymore, and how could he even be with someone when they needed a translator at their disposal at all hours of all days? 

It turned out that Bilbo, a hobbit unaware that he was constantly surprising and decimating all prejudices the dwarves might have held against him, wasn’t content with leaving their day to end with an accidental head wound. He sought Bifur’s company while he was blankly staring into a fire cooking greens and listening to the idle chatter of his companions.

“Master Bifur, I know this was meant to be your day in this whole…hm, courting session…thing,” the little one whispered as he leaned down to ear level, “so I thought we ought to perhaps take a walk, tour a garden…something of the like.” Pink as a rose his cheeks grew.   
Bifur had to stop his brain from considering the possibilities that a pretty blush like that meant more than just the embarrassment of politeness while he stood, a torch of flaming vegetables in hand. 

Not bothering to put out the fire in the greenery, he rose to his feet dramatically swaying the fires this way and that, nearly singeing his cousin’s beloved hat. 

Tossing the remainders of his sausage at an unsuspecting Bombur’s face, Bofur furiously whipped the silly cloth about to fan out the burning, grumbling and glaring at Bifur. Noticing the hobbit standing besides him, Bofur’s eyes came alight. Grabbing hold of the flaming vegan’s dream weapon from Bifur‘s hand, he snuffed out the fire with his breath and gave a little bow, handing the blackened food to a frowning Bifur, who suspected their to be smatterings of saliva coating his dinner. 

“Bilbo lad!” he cried cheerfully, “if ye be needin’ a translator, or, aye, even a chaperone,” a wink and an attempt at courteously tipping his hat, “I’ll be all for it! Promise I won’t even speak ‘a’sides the translatin’ business…no, ye won’t know I even exist!” 

“Oh, yes, thank you Bofur, that is very much appreciated. We’re taking a walk, you see, somewhere or another.”

Bifur grunted and threw his green foods at his rotund cousin who, let it be said, for the first time witnessed, began cursing at all the food he was presented with much to the astonishment of the entire company. 

Bilbo set a relatively slow pace, for he had no desire to wound Bifur by giving the impression he wanted not to spend time with him, though in truth his back was aching and all he wanted was to sink into a tub and eat chocolates until he grew rounder than the door’s of Mirkwood were tall. He decided that wandering about in the cricket buzzing darkness, with the strange ethereal glow of elven structures following them about pleasantly, illuminating their path, would have to do. Bifur seemed ill at ease with the concept of walking side by side with him, though he noticed Bofur often did so until he realized the error in his step and backtracked to follow a few paces behind, looking right dejected the entire time. 

A minute or so passed quietly, Bilbo’s hands stuffed in his pockets, rockng back and forth on his big, hairy toes as they stopped to admire a particularly shiny statue of a dancing elf, limbs and fingers graceful and one nipple quite obviously peeking through her gown. Bofur snorted and gave it a squeeze. Bilbo rolled his eyes and turned to speak to a very quiet Bifur.

“So…quite a day we’ve just had, I’d say! Orc packs, tall folk, and my first near-brush with death! Everything I never hoped would happen! He declared, offering a weak smile. “You fared quite well, I must say. Had no idea you were so ferocious, and the creative way you stabbed repeatedly at that one nasty critter in the backside had me nearly laughing, if it weren’t for the, you know, orcs.”

Bofur chortled then continued to molest the statue, commenting quietly that no earthly dwarven kingdom would be accepting of puckered nipples and see-through cloth upon their great golden carvings. 

Bifur smiled much as he always did, with a grimace and a mighty squint of his left eye, crooked teeth bared. Bilbo made a strange face which contorted his lips and giggled nervously.

“Yes, well…glad you’re proud of that.”

“How do you feel after the attack?” Bifur asked, having to nudge his cousin away from the statue to achieve translation.

“Oh just wonderful,” Bilbo said sarcastically. “Got a bruise the size of my head on my side and I feel I can understand Grandmother Took when she complained about standing with her twisted back, but I’m alive, and really that’s the most important thing. And you?”

“I am not harmed. I am still in a mood for fighting, but sleep will come easy tonight.” Bofur translated.

“Oh yes! And on a great fluffy bed! Ah, how I have longed for a room with privacy! Not,” Bilbo added quickly, “that dwarven company at all times is so very vexing, but to have my own space for a moment would be lovely.”

“We’re sharing rooms,” Bofur commented lightly, though the humor he found in watching Bilbo’s face fall in anguish twinkled in his mirthful eyes.

“What! That is highly inappropriate!” Bilbo cried, tugging at his hair in despair, “to be courted by thirteen dwarves was bad enough! But having to share a room with one of them? I may not make it to Erebor, I swear on Old Took’s favorite tarts!” And with that he buried his face in his hands and groaned. 

Bifur found himself torn between sympathy and insult that this whole courting business was taken so poorly by the hobbit, but he supposed that would be difficult for anyone, especially one who has never had adventures and was still getting used to everything, including dwarves. So he placed a comforting hand on the hobbit’s shoulder and gently placated him as best he could in his gruff voice.

Bofur translated, adding in his own condolences and remarked that, “the talkin’ forehead, tiara wearin’ creature seems taken with ye. Maybes ye can bat yer pretty blues an’ he’ll listen.”

Bilbo continued groaning and muttering darkly between his hands.

“I would never step on his already great hospitality like that,” he said, finally looking up from his hands.

“You could share with Bif?” Bofur shrugged. “He’s gentle as a rabbit and there’s nothin’ but good intention in his mind at all times.”

Bifur barely managed to stop himself from nodding until his head fell off. Yes please, yes please, he thought to himself. His crazed grin near split his face open.

Pausing to think, Bilbo licked at his dry and cracking lips to eye him.

Frowning furiously, Bilbo violently crossed his arms in a huff and blew a curl from his dirtied face.

“Oh confound it. Yes, that seems a fair idea. You didn’t have a proper chance at your day with me anyway. It couldn’t hurt.” Bilbo couldn’t even fathom why he was agreeing so readily, but the pathetically elated expression on Bifur’s face could not be stamped out by this overly kind hobbit. “Besides, I certainly wouldn’t trust you enough to share a room with, you great, statue feeling lecher,” he added firmly, pointing an unwavering finger at Bofur, who merely laughed.

After sleeping arrangements were decided, Bifur and Bilbo continued having awkward, stilted conversations that often trailed off, leaving nothing but open air, softly playing crickets and the occasional break out of an overly drunk elf belting an operatic tune about dung beetles, startling even the toughest of dwarves. 

Bifur learned how many cousins and family members dwelt in the shire and was horrified by the sheer number of children one woman could bare. Bilbo learned Bifur was a toy maker and was even given a tiny wooden pony which amazingly could bend its knees and shake its head, though Bifur didn’t tell him that he was currently working on a miniature Bilbo for his horse. He would keep that a secret until he was given even the smallest of hints that his lovely Bilbo might feel affection for him. 

Bifur knew he was a fool, but out of all the great misfortunes bestowed upon him by fate, he would cling to something that brought him joy, no matter how strange or inexplicable. A hobbit, of all things, brought him a desire to smile so strong he often was overwhelmed by it. And Bilbo was fine as anything, sweet and bossy, round tummy soft from good food, and a ferocity that was, frankly, surprising for such a tiny thing. He could shout hobbity obscenities and well-worded commentary about your lack of manners and jab his finger at you enough to bruise. He knew, somehow, that this burglar could hand them the key to Erebor after taking Smaug by the stones, barbecuing and serving him up as a pleasant meal with a side of tea and biscuits. 

Making their way back to the party, all of whom had made their way to their rooms, Bofur bid them good night and they made their way up to a very elvish bedroom with a mammoth bed which had Bilbo cooing and sighing in absolute ecstasy. With many grunts and gestures, Bifur managed to convince him that he wanted to sleep on the little padded chair in the corner of the room while Bilbo could happily roll around in the bed, probably getting lost in the massiveness of tangled sheets and the sunken mattress.

Bifur had to remember to make sure the bed hadn't eaten him in the morning.


End file.
